CHAPTER 6. PHILANTHROPY IN MINOR CANON CORNER
(continued)

The dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philanthropist
deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the
waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare, and drove Mr. Tope (who
assisted the parlour-maid) to the verge of distraction by passing
plates and dishes on, over his own head. Nobody could talk to
anybody, because he held forth to everybody at once, as if the
company had no individual existence, but were a Meeting. He
impounded the Reverend Mr. Septimus, as an official personage to be
addressed, or kind of human peg to hang his oratorical hat on, and
fell into the exasperating habit, common among such orators, of
impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would
ask: 'And will you, sir, now stultify yourself by telling me'--and
so forth, when the innocent man had not opened his lips, nor meant
to open them. Or he would say: 'Now see, sir, to what a position
you are reduced. I will leave you no escape. After exhausting all
the resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years;
after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with
ensanguined daring, such as the world has not often witnessed; you
have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of
mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!' Whereat the
unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part
perplexed; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her
eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of
gelatinous state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and
very little resistance.

But the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the departure of
Mr. Honeythunder began to impend, must have been highly gratifying
to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was
produced, by the special activity of Mr. Tope, a full hour before
he wanted it. Mr. Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand for
about the same period, lest he should overstay his time. The four
young people were unanimous in believing that the Cathedral clock
struck three-quarters, when it actually struck but one. Miss
Twinkleton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five-and-twenty
minutes' walk, when it was really five. The affectionate kindness
of the whole circle hustled him into his greatcoat, and shoved him
out into the moonlight, as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom
they sympathised, and a troop of horse were at the back door. Mr.
Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to the omnibus, were so
fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold, that they shut
him up in it instantly and left him, with still half-an-hour to
spare.